Often
by AndSheWasBeautiful
Summary: Often, he would sit and tend to his occamy chicks, feeding them small insects and smiling softly to himself when the babies would snap them happily from his fingertips, the sharp point of their tiny beaks nipping his skin just enough to send a rush of pleasure down his spine. - Newt is feeling down and Dougal the demiguise lends a hand. Implied NewtxLeta


Often, he would sit and tend to his occamy chicks, feeding them small insects and smiling softly to himself when the babies would snap them happily from his fingertips, the sharp point of their tiny beaks nipping his skin just enough to send a rush of pleasure down his spine. No matter where in the world he was, Newt was safe in the confines of his suitcase, playing 'mummy' to the many creatures that he cared for, finding solace from the increasingly frantic nature of the world outside. Always new Muggle machines roaring through the streets, new headlines about Grindlewald, more tension between witches and wizards and Muggles or No-Majs or whatever it was one wanted to call them. It didn't much matter to him when he rested his chin upon the backs of his hands, which grasped the outer curve of the occamy chicks' nest, and watched the way they moved and chirped, captivated by their every move.

Often, he would do just this, before closing his eyes slowly and then opening them while letting out a long breath, and raising his chin up a little so he could see the demiguise watching him with intent, wide eyes.

And then he leans his head to one side, regarding Dougal's quiet little features with a mixture of trepidation and delight.

"Alright now, Dougal. You know I hate it when you stare at me quite so intently. I feel as though you can read my mind a little," he says softly, before grinning and raising a brow slightly at the creature. "Can you?"

In truth, a demiguise was one of the most troublesome creatures to capture, never mind study for long periods of time. Thus, Newt was learning new things about the graceful ape-like beast as the days went by, and given Dougal's fascinating ability to see short, predictable visions of future events, Newt wouldn't have been surprised if he was adept in some form of Legilimency.

Dougal inclines his head a little, his wide eyes boring into Newt's own, causing the anxious man to lick his lips and do his best to stare back. Normally it was only humans Newt found it difficult to hold eye contact with, but the sheer intelligence that radiated from Dougal often reminded him of Hogwarts professors asking him pointed questions and staring at him too long.

"No. I don't think you can – I do think you have an uncanny ability to sense when something's not right though. You and old Frank know me better than I'd like you to," Newt jokes lightly, leaning back from the occamy nest so he is resting on the palms of his hands, and watching Dougal with a soft smile on his face. The demiguise moves forwards a little, dropping from his perch above the occamy nest and lumbering gently over to where Newt sits, going straight to his side and offering him a long, silvery arm.

Newt grabs the hand offered to him, reaching and scratching the creature's chin and eliciting a happy chirp from him. The demiguise crawls closer to Newt, folding himself into the side of his captor and allowing Newt to further scratch his neck and head.

"You like that don't you? There's a good boy," Newt murmurs this to Dougal, closing his eyes in happiness at the proximity of the creature. He takes a low, stuttering breath and the beast recognises the broken rhythms of his breathing and the sudden withering of his companion almost instantly. He nudges Newt's cheek with a long index finger and huffs. Newt's smile is different now, still soft and small, but tinged with bitter sadness, an uncomfortable twist of the lips.

"It's Leta's birthday today, you see, Dougal."

Almost as if the demiguise can understand English, the docile creature butts the top of his head against Newt's chin, to which the magizoologist shakes his own head.

"I'm fine, I promise," he says gently, to which Dougal the demiguise makes a noise of indignation. Newt snorts softly and rubs his free hand through his already unkempt hair, sending a shock of curls to fall further down into his eyes.

"No use trying to fool you, my friend," he concedes, gazing absently up at the dark sky of his suitcase, absently stroking Dougal as he does, earning happy croons. He continues to speak, for himself he knows, because despite his wishing, the beast is not capable of understanding speech – Newt knows this – and yet his want to express his sadness to someone, something, overcomes his usual rationality and clouds his words with taught sadness.

"I had… bought her a gift. When I was in Papua New Guinea. The locals cut this strange looking precious stone from the rocks below the occamy nests. I had gone for one of those, and found a pair of earrings, made from the silver of their eggshells and this stone. They shone… a strange yellow one moment, green the next. I thought… it was rather fitting, for Leta and… I."

Newt's words trail away, falling from his lips like the broken silver eggshells that had created the tiny pieces of jewellery in his pocket. Dougal is silent and pensive, as Newt reaches up and rubs hastily at his eyes with the back of his hand, laughing shortly at how pathetic he is. He sniffs, and shakes his head the bitter laugh still there in his words.

"I don't know why I did it. Leta and I have wanted very different things for a very long time…"

At that instant, Dougal vanishes, his soft form still there beside Newt, though invisible to the eye. Newt glances around in confusion for a moment, before he hears the soft crunch of a heeled foot on the forest floor. He shuts his eyes and cringes, desperately searching the crevices of his mind for any shred of Occulmency he learned in school. He feels Dougal leave his side and sees the nest shake as the graceful ape climbs back to his perch. It is then he hears it.

"You don't gotta be mean about it Newt. Trying to use Occulmency to block me out. It's not my fault your mind is screaming."

Queenie's words are soft, forgiving, and Newt doesn't dare turn to face her. She pauses a moment as though she is going to say something more, but instead, Newt just feels a gentle hand ruffle his hair slightly and her warm voice.

"I just came to tell you dinner is ready. I called, but I heard you talking and I thought you lost your mind," she said, her tone light and jovial. Newt pushes himself up and dusts his shirt down before turning to brush past Queenie towards the exit of his suitcase, but she blocks his path, rapping at her temple with her knuckles and then pointing at Newt's own forehead. "Don't worry. It's still in there, swear."

"Queenie-"

"I know, I know, you don't want me telling Teenie anymore about Leta Lestrange or what you think of her," Queenie brushes him off, leaning over and removing a wisp of something from his jacket, before smiling and meeting his eyes for the brief moment that he will allow her too, with that all too recognisable twinkle present in their depths.

"But then I guess you wouldn't want me telling her a few of the little things you notice about her now, would you?"

At this Newt pales and draws a deep breath, attempting to look as fearsome as he can, and gather up the courage to make his voice seem commanding and serious.

"Now - … now, Queenie –"

He fails almost immediately, tripping over the first word and rising a painful blush as said woman giggles and takes his hand, pulling him towards the exit.

"C'mon Newt, you weird little Brit," she says affectionately, reaching the ladder of the exit, and going to clamber up the rungs before stopping and watching him with her infectious grin and twinkling eyes. "Y'know, Teenie has her ears pierced."

Newt gulps and goes to answer her back, but being cut off with a shrug of her shoulders and a giggle before he can. She is gone in moments, up the ladder, leaving him to gaze up after her and gather himself once again before moving to follow.

His mind still clouded enough with warring thoughts surrounding the only girl he has ever loved, and the woman he finds himself growing to love more and more each day and this is enough to make him trip as he enters the dining room.

Tina looks up from her plate with a raised brow, as Queenie grins into her glass. Newt sniffs the air with vigour and blinks and looks away from Tina's curious gaze.

"Dinner smells delicious, Queenie," he mutters, pulling his chair out and taking his seat. She gasps in delight and flicks her wand delicately so a plate laden with steak pie and vegetables rests before Newt on the table.

"Thank you Newt! I only make it on very special occasions. Birthdays and such," she adds softly, to which his hand moving his knife to cut the pie slows for a moment and he glances at her with his sad smile. She sips her water. "Funerals too. I make it when things come to an end – the pie of new beginnings!"

She giggles and glances at Tina who is watching her in bewilderment, before looking to Newt with an air of suspicion. Before she can question either of them, Newt lifts his glass to his lips, and smiles, shy and proper, before meeting Tina's eyes over the rim.

"To new beginnings… Tina."

Tina's cheeks tinge pink and she smiles away from him, lifting her glass and drinking too. Newt gulps down his entire cup of water in a frantic rush then, and shoves his hand into his pocket, splaying his palm before her recoiled form – she had expected him to pull out a doxy or some such small creature. She sees the soft glimmer of silver in his hand and her eyes slowly slip to meet his own.

He grins, a grin she has only seen him give his mooncalves and graphorns.

"I noticed, you don't own much jewellery, Tina."

* * *

Thanks for reading~


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